When All Hope was Lost
by Sarah's Scrawls
Summary: "His will to live had been snatched from him, and he believed it would never be regained." When Merlin finds himself in the twenty-first century, there are several people who are surprised.
1. Discovery

**This story is set between The Hounds of Baskerville and The Reichenbach Fall in Sherlock. It starts immediately where Merlin ended. I know it's an overused concept, but I couldn't help but add my own version. Also, I will bring in a few Doctor Who references, but I am not very informed on that show, so if I get anything wrong, please correct me. Enjoy :)**

* * *

The aching pain inside of him had now become a permanent part of his being.

For days he wandered the streets of London aimlessly, unseeing eyes staring straight ahead. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, and because of this his strength was quickly fading. Additionally, the energy it took to maintain the disguise of an old man drained his strength, powerful as he was. He felt himself dying, but he no longer possessed the motivation to reverse this downward spiral.

His will to live had been snatched from him, and he believed it would never be regained.

* * *

"Why is nothing a big deal to you? A woman has lost her son, and all you can say is, 'boring'"?

"He obviously died of natural causes, which left no case for me."

"But the woman was distraught!"

"Oh, I'm sorry John, since when do I care about the feelings of a stranger?"

"Any decent human being would feel for what she's going through."

"Key-word: decent. That's something I've never pretended to be." Rising from his couchant position, the criticized man strode towards the kitchen.

In the midst of his stride, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he answered, "Yes, what's the matter with the world today?" in an annoyed tone.

"Are you Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" came the reply after a momentary pause.

"I've been known to answer to other names, but that is the one my parents forced upon me." Another confused pause followed while John rolled his eyes.

Finally, the voice on the other end said, "This is St. Bart's, and we have a young man here in critical condition who keeps saying your name. We thought you might want to see him."

"He's obviously out of his head, maybe heard my name from the papers - certainly no one I should concern myself with." Before the other person could say anything else, Sherlock hung up and placed his phone in his pocket. Sighing with satisfaction, he continued to the kitchen.

"Who was that?" called John.

"Someone from St. Bart's."

"What did they want?"

"Ah, nothing of importance."

"Well, what did they say?"

"Someone was out of their head - saying my name in their sleep. They thought I might know him."

"How do you know you don't?" asked John, still thinking of their previous conversation, and worrying that Sherlock was turning away from a situation that needed him.

"Would I know anyone who was stupid enough to be in critical condition?" John was fed up with Sherlock's snarkiness, and he barked,

"That's it. I'm taking a walk. Might even check in on that poor guy at St. Bart's - let him know that someone cares about him." He stomped out of the door, leaving a satisfied flatmate.

"Finally - peace and quiet," murmured Sherlock to himself.

* * *

John stepped out of the taxi as it stopped in front of the hospital. A few people bustled by, but this was not a busy area of town. Entering, he found that it was quite empty inside. A nurse sat behind the front desk, and a cleaning lady was sweeping the floor, but there were no other visitors to be seen. John remembered how it used to be when he was here: The noise, the crowds, the hustle and bustle, and the prestige. Now, the old hospital was barely keeping its doors open. With a small feeling of sadness, John realized he was fond of the place and would hate to see it close.

Approaching the front desk, John asked the nurse there, "Has there been anyone brought in here recently in critical condition?"

She replied disinterestedly, "Yeah, I think there was some kid that they found on the streets, almost dead. Don't know why they didn't just leave him - as if we ain't got enough idiot kids on our streets already." John looked at her with a confused expression, then asked,

"Can you tell me where he is?" She heaved a great sigh of discomfort and rolled her chair over to a computer screen. After a few lazy clicks, she said,

"He's in room 313, on the third floor. Take the elevator, it's faster than the stairs." John hesitated for a moment before replying,

"Yeah, well, thanks for that." He walked away from the desk, shaking his head at the imbecility of some people.

As he got on the elevator, though, he quickly thought about what the nurse had said. A kid? Sherlock wasn't even willing to help a kid? John grew more incensed at his friend the more he thought about it.

When the ding announced he had reached the third floor, John disembarked the elevator and made his way towards room 313. There was a bit of quiet talking coming from the room, but nothing that would signal a person in critical condition.

The long hall seemed so still and foreboding, with the drab walls lining it seeming to speak of some sinister thing that was on its way. John almost feared to approach the room.

However, common sense got the better of him, and he shook away the dark feeling. He entered the room, finding a male nurse and a female nurse chatting quietly about life and feelings.

"Am I interrupting something?" asked John with an air of disapproval. Both nurses stood up quickly and looked at each other guiltily. The man laughed nervously and answered,

"Uh, uh, no, I uh, we were just, uh, well, I mean, no!" Studying them both with displeasure, John stated,

"I heard there was a patient here in critical condition, but I assume that's not true?" It was a statement, but he voiced it as a question. This made the two nurses look even more guilty.

"Well, um, actually, uh, that boy over there is not doing well. He's in a very serious state, but I don't think I'd call it critical. If it were critical, we'd be doing much more to make him comfortable." The man ended with a fake smile, hoping John wouldn't see through his bluff.

"I'm sure," muttered John under his breath. He drew near to the bed upon which the boy was lying, and he was surprised, and then distressed, at what he saw.

The first thing he noticed was the likeness the boy held to Sherlock. The dark hair, the prominent cheekbones, each trying to tell a story of relation.

The next thing that John noticed, though, was the seriousness of the boy's condition. He was drenched with sweat, glistening face showing the raging fire within.

He was also tossing and turning sporadically, obviously in great pain. He writhed on the bed as John watched, and the anguish on his face spoke volumes to John's medical mind.

The two nurses were still behind him, and John jerked around to face them.

"What do you mean he's not serious? This boy is dying! Now, if you two could stop Romeo-and-Julietting and start getting your mind where it should be, you might be able to save him." The two nodded shamefacedly and hurried to get on some gloves.

"I'm going to leave for a little while, but I'll be back to make sure you're tending him. Do you think you can handle that? If not, I'm sure the authorities would love to hear about your incompetence." John's blood was boiling, and his eyes seemed to express that, for the nurses both nodded their heads vigorously and set to work. John hurried out of the hospital to hail a taxi.


	2. Gifted

Sherlock was sipping the tea that Mrs. Hudson had brought him, perusing the newspaper for any sign of a case, when he heard the front door close and an ascending voice calling,

"Sherlock! Sherlock!" He slammed his paper down in annoyance and looked up as his door burst open to reveal John, livid and tense.

"Sherlock, I think there's something that you should come see." Sherlock tossed his head arrogantly.

"The boy at the hospital?" He took another sip of tea, evidently insinuating that he wasn't planning to move from his seat. John took a step towards him and snarled,

"Sherlock, if a boy's life doesn't mean anything to you, I think you ought to be locked up right alongside Moriarty himself." Sherlock started, apparently surprised at John's passion. "Now, Mr. Holmes, you're going to come with me to the hospital, or, so help me, I will kick you out of this flat." Unused to seeing John in such a frenzy, Sherlock decided it was best for both parties concerned if he accompanied John to the hospital.

However, when they arrived, there was nothing that could have prepared him for the shock he received upon seeing the boy on the bed. At sight of the boy, Sherlock froze. For the first time since John had known him, he had a confused and unbelieving look on his face. This was proof to John that he knew who this boy was, but John knew it would be a while before he got an explanation of the situation.

After his confusion passed, Sherlock addressed the two negligent nurses who had miraculously done what John had told them:

"Don't leave this boy unattended until his fever is gone." He turned to leave the room, then seemed to think better of it and turned back. "And if he dies on your hands, well, I hope you believe in some higher power, because only God could possibly help you then. Cheerio!" And with a quick smile and a wave, he left the two terrified nurses to care for their suddenly significant patient.

Once they were inside a taxi on their way to Baker Street, John asked,

"So why the sudden burst of interest in the boy's well-being, hmm?" Sherlock, busily texting, only answered absently,

"Maybe, I just thought I should help someone in need."

"You said yourself this morning that you don't care how a complete stranger feels." Sending his text and putting his phone back in his pocket, Sherlock replied jovially,

"Yes, well, that was this morning." John wasn't fooled.

As the taxi had stopped, both men got out.

"You obviously know the boy, Sherlock. Just admit it. Who is he?"

"Not now, John," drifted back Sherlock's abrupt halt to the conversation.

Frustrated, John muttered to himself, "Or not ever, for that matter."

They entered their living quarters on the second floor of 221, and John was surprised to see Mycroft observing their room.

"Good morning, brother dear," Sherlock greeted him sarcastically.

"Is it, though?" asked Mycroft disgustedly.

"It was until this very moment," answered Sherlock with equal disgust.

"Hello, Dr. Watson," said Mycroft to the doctor.

"Mycroft," answered John brusquely. "Why are you here?"

"Well, my dear brother has brought it to my attention that there is a certain young boy at St. Bart's who is in need of medical attention. Being the caring and compassionate man that I am, I could not wait to be of assistance." John understood his sarcasm, but decided to leave it unaddressed.

"So who is this boy, a relative of yours?"

"He is our youngest brother, Merlin," stated Mycroft.

The room seemed to get very still as each person processed this information. John was trying to understand how there could possibly be three Holmes brothers on one planet without that planet exploding. Sherlock and Mycroft were thinking of other things.

Presently, Sherlock broke the silence, asking, "Mycroft, why is Merlin here? Did you send for him, and if so, why?"

"I'm afraid I did not, brother, which makes the matter all the more puzzling. I was hoping you could enlighten me on a few matters." The fact that both brothers were puzzled made John feel a bit afraid. When two people who always know what is going on are stumped, there is cause to be very frightened indeed.

"I assumed that you were behind this," answered Sherlock.

"Where have you been keeping him?" asked John with concern, afraid of what the answer might be.

"And this is where I leave you, Sherlock, to explain everything to your, ahem, "friend." Mycroft spat the last word as if it were a vile word. "I shall go to check on Merlin and see if I am not able to ascertain the reason for his unexpected visit. Good day," and with a motion of his umbrella, he exited the room.

Sherlock didn't move for a while after Mycroft left, and finally John's patience came to an end.

"Sherlock, explain. You've had a younger brother this whole time that you never told me about? Why is he such a secret?" Sighing dramatically, Sherlock replied,

"I'm sure you've discovered that we Holmes are not like the average person, or maybe that's slipped your notice? I wouldn't be surprised for a mind like yours." Though seething, John held his tongue and let the detective continue. Sherlock threw himself down onto the couch. "Merlin is also not like the average person, but in a more advanced and noticeable way than Mycroft and I." Before John could say anything, Sherlock cut him off. "I know, you're wondering how that's possible. In time, you'll see what I mean. Merlin is, well, how do I say it, special?"

"Is he handicapped?" asked John, medical mind already conceiving ideas.

"On the contrary, he is gifted with extraordinary abilities."

"You keep using euphemisms for handicapped, which makes me think you're avoiding the truth." Sherlock looked at John witheringly, and said after a brief pause,

"I think I'd know if my brother was handicapped." He rose from the couch and walked towards the window.

"Fine, fine, whatever you say." John wasn't convinced, but he let it go. "So where has he been?" Sherlock stared out of the window for a while before answering this question.

"When my parents first noticed his gifts, which was at a young age, they didn't know what to think of these abilities, and thought they were quite harmless. As he grew, though, these abilities became more potent." He retreated from the window and settled into an armchair.

"His gifts have a tendency to be noticed, even by average minds, and it became dangerous for him to be around people. If he wasn't careful (which he never was), he would attract attention, often unwanted attention." He paused for a moment, hands pressed together in front of his face, possibly recalling a memory from the past. Shaking his head to dissolve the memory, he proceeded.

"Finally, my parents realized that his gifts made him too dangerous for any type of life here. They knew that there was nowhere on earth that would be a safe place for him." John began to grow sick fearing the conclusion of the story.

"Don't tell me they tried to kill him," said John with a pained expression. Interrupted, Sherlock looked at John with surprise and replied,

"What? No! What do you take my parents for, monsters?" John was surprised too.

"No, I just, I thought that's where you were going with the story." Sherlock stared at him disdainfully and said,

"Why don't you just keep your mouth closed while I finish my story so you don't display your ignorance." John sullenly tightened his lips, but did as Sherlock said. The detective continued his story.

"Mycroft, of course, has a high position in the government, which means that he has access to lots of people and things that many believe are only myth and legend. One such person he knows is known only as The Doctor. He has in his possession a time-traveling machine that can go anywhere in the past or future.

"My parents believed that the only place that Merlin could go that would possibly be safe would be the past, a time when people were very ignorant and wouldn't understand the importance of Merlin's abilities." He paused as his phone buzzed, and pulled it out to reply quickly to a text. John waited silently for him to finish.

With the phone back in his pocket, Sherlock continued.

"So Mycroft arranged for Merlin to be taken by the Doctor to a time in the past where his gifts would be more widely accepted. And, we haven't heard from him since."

It was such a wild story, even coming from Sherlock, that John had to remain silent and process the information for a while.

"You mean that time-traveling is scientifically possible? When did this happen?" was the first thing that John could think to say.

"Oh, come on John, really? I just told you that I have a younger brother who has a life-threatening situation and Mycroft and I have no idea why he's here, and the only thing you can think about is time-travel?"

"Well, yeah, time-travel's kind of a big deal!"

"Dull," said Sherlock uninterestedly. Rising from his chair, he paced around the room. "But how could Merlin possibly be here? If Mycroft didn't send for him, that means he got here by himself. Perhaps his gifts have grown even more powerful than we thought."

"You still haven't told me exactly what his gifts are," inserted John.

"Best if someone with such a fragile mind as yourself figured that out for himself." Though John had a million questions tumbling through his mind, such as why neither brother seemed concerned about Merlin's physical state, he could tell by the look on Sherlock's face that the conversation was over for the moment, and further answers would have to wait for another time.


	3. Revelation

When he first woke, the room was dim. Black dots floated in front of his eyes, and he was too weak to move. For many hours, all he could do as he hovered between waking and sleeping was stare at the white ceiling. He was only partly aware of the happenings in the room. At one point, he faintly felt someone giving him some water, a female, he thought, but once she laid his head back on the the pillow he immediately fell back into a restless sleep.

However, when he woke up next, he felt more strength in himself. The room was not nearly as dim as before. Trying to shake away the fogginess in his brain, he attempted to lift himself onto his elbows. He failed, though, and collapsed back into fitful dreams.

Finally, he woke with a mind cleared of fogginess. Though his head still felt light and hot, and he was still physically weak, his mind was clear. Several thoughts began to arise of all that had happened prior to his hospitalization, but he wasn't ready to dive into them yet. Instead, he thought about his magic, and wondered if he still possessed the ability to use it.

Looking down at the sheet covering him, he whispered "Astyrian," and watched with disinterested satisfaction as it was pulled off of him as if by an invisible hand.

"I wouldn't say that was the brightest idea, as it's a sure way to be found out." Startled, he raised himself onto his elbows, succeeding this time, and found Mycroft sitting in a chair by the wall. "Really, Merlin, that was a rash decision on your part; you didn't even look to see if anyone was in the room."

"I don't care," came Merlin's quiet reply.

"Well, you should. Your life could be the price to pay."

"So?" Merlin laid back down, remembering the days before he had been brought to the hospital. He had assumed his disguise as an old man so his brothers wouldn't recognize him, and he had hoped that he would be dead before they found him without his disguise. How disappointing, then, when he woke to find that he was alive, and none other than his oldest brother was watching over him.

Pulling his blanket back over himself, Merlin threw himself onto his side so he was facing the wall opposite Mycroft. Chuckling, Mycroft commented,

"You know, you remind me so much of Sherlock when he throws his childish tantrums." Merlin, frustrated, growled,

"Can you please just leave me alone, Mike?" He used Mycroft's hated nickname on purpose, hoping to get under his skin. Mycroft ignored the name and answered,

"I'm afraid not. You see, if I left you alone now, in your state of mind, you are likely to do something harmful, to yourself and others."

"And why do you care?" bellowed Merlin, sitting up violently to face his brother.

Mycroft, not one to feel extreme emotions, was only intrigued at the change in Merlin. He remembered his youngest brother as a kind, extremely compassionate, and emotional child. He marveled silently at the change that had come over him.

"What's happened to you, Merlin?" he asked with interest. But the sudden movement had jarred Merlin's fragile faculties, and he sank back down onto the bed, unconscious.

Pulling out his phone, Mycroft dialed Sherlock's number. "Sherlock, it is time for you to do your part in these family affairs. Do come relieve me in my watch of the boy, if you don't mind." He didn't wait for a reply, but quickly hung up.

* * *

"It's absolutely intolerable the way that Mycroft demands things of me," pouted Sherlock. "That position in the government has gone to his head." John found some joy in Sherlock's grumbling, and walked silently behind the detective as they entered the hospital, smirking to himself.

The lady behind the front desk looked up as they entered, and asked, "What do you want?" Sherlock sailed by as if he hadn't heard her, and, attempting to make up for his friend's rudeness, John replied,

"We know where we're going, thanks." She only scowled at them.

Once they were in the elevator, Sherlock continued. "And to think that there are four murders on one street, which is quite intriguing since a killer usually doesn't strike in the same place twice, much less four times. Either he's impossibly idiotic or extremely intelligent, and I'm leaning towards the latter." Fidgeting with impatience, Sherlock added, "And due to having a needy younger brother who can't fend for himself, Lestrade is putting Anderson on the case instead of me." He whipped his trench coat after him as the elevator doors opened, and John followed, trying not to laugh at his complaints.

Mycroft was still in Merlin's room when they entered, and Merlin was still unconscious. After updating them on their conversation, Mycroft left John and Sherlock to watch over Merlin.

John settled into a chair while Sherlock remained standing, occasionally pacing the room in frustration. The silence dragged on for a while, and presently John found himself dozing off. He jerked himself awake and stood up to shake away his drowsiness. Walking over to the bed upon which Merlin was lying, he surveyed the boy. He was glad to note that the fever was gone and he looked much healthier, but he could tell that the boy was still very dehydrated. When he was finished, he went back to his chair and settled down again.

As he was thinking in the silence, it came to his mind that he had seen nothing of the two nurses whose job it was to watch over Merlin. Though he really wasn't surprised, he still felt a nagging fear that something wasn't right.

He was to be proved right when the door to the hospital room burst open and in stormed three police officers. Sherlock jerked around to face them, and John jumped up from his seat.

"Okay, boys, that's it, you can go home now. We'll take over from here." Dumbfounded, John asked,

"Excuse me, officer, what is the meaning of this?" He looked from the officer to Sherlock, and noticed that Sherlock did not looked surprised at the invasion, though he did look angry.

"The nurse who was watching over this boy said he was doing some very peculiar things, things that frightened her so much that she came to us. I think that deserves some looking into." Sherlock walked up to the officer and said quietly with contained anger,

"Look here, officer, that boy is my brother, so I think I have more of a right to watch over him than anyone." The officer paused, obviously surprised, and observed Sherlock for a moment before answering,

"I'm sorry he happens to be related to you, but this is not just something that we can let pass." He sounded sincere, but one look at Sherlock's face and John knew he was not going to let it go at that. Sidling up to the detective, John gripped his shoulder to calm him down, but Sherlock only continued to stare the officer in the eyes.

Suddenly, Merlin stirred in the bed, and murmured, "Sherlock? Is that you?" All three of the police officers jumped, and the lead officer silently held his hand behind him, motioning to the other two to stay still. They all stared at the boy as if he were a wild animal who could lunge at them at any second.

Approaching the bed, Sherlock stated very matter-of-factly, "Yes, Merlin, it's Sherlock." Merlin's eyes slowly opened, and he looked up at his brother's face. No trace of a smile came over his features, but his pained expression seemed to soften a little, and his pale, drawn face relaxed slightly.

However, just as this happened, he noticed the police officers in the room, and immediately his body tensed again.

"Why are they here?" he asked with a frightened voice, rising onto his elbows again. It tore at John's heartstrings to hear the scared voice of a little boy coming from the body of someone who had obviously seen far too much in his time.

"Don't worry about them. They won't hurt you." John marveled at the tender tone that had entered Sherlock's voice. He had never thought it possible for the detective to feel deep emotion, but in those two sentences he heard more affection than he thought could ever be found in his eccentric friend. Merlin lowered himself back down into the bed, but he did not look completely at ease.

Turning around, Sherlock took a determined stand between Merlin and the police officers.

"As you can see, officers, the boy is not dangerous. I can take care of him."

"Listen, sir, stand aside, or I will arrest you as well as him." Sherlock's mouth tightened, but he didn't answer or move.

The approaching officer took one more step towards Sherlock, and suddenly threw a punch at him. Sherlock caught his arm, but the officer had anticipated this, and with the other hand clutching a metal baton, he struck Sherlock on the head. The detective immediately collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

"Hey!" shouted John, leaping towards the officer. "That wasn't necessary!"

"I told him to stand down!" returned the officer. But John was in too much of a rage, and he swung at the officer. He had not accounted for the other two policemen, and before his fist could connect, he felt his arms grabbed from behind. Struggling, he tried to pull away from the officers, but they held him fast.

The head officer whirled to face him, turning his back to Merlin. John was the only one facing the bed, and he was therefore the only one who saw Merlin raise himself with a look of determination on his face. His lips moved, and suddenly a colossal force threw the officers and John against the wall.

Though dazed, John remained conscious. The same could not be said for the three officers. They all lay prone on the floor.

John, even as astonished as he was at the event that had happened, first rushed to check on Sherlock. A nasty bruise was beginning to form on the side of his face, but there didn't appear to be anything wrong internally.

When he was sure that Sherlock was all right, John rose from the floor and stared at Merlin. The boy was pale and weak, and he looked back at John with a look that was partly apologetic and partly fearful. John didn't know what to say for a while, and just continued to stare at the boy in silence.

Finally, John broke the silence with a quick, ironic laugh, and then said, "So that's your gift, then. Magic. Huh! No wonder Sherlock thought I should figure it out for myself. I wouldn't have believed him if he'd told me." He stared at the wall with a disbelieving smile.

Merlin was still unsure how he felt, and continued to lay on the bed in silence.

"Well, at least now I understand why they didn't want you to be found out by anyone. A secret like that could be more dangerous than anyone could imagine in the wrong hands."

Shaking his head, John was still trying to let his senses catch up with what had happened, when Sherlock began to stir. Groaning, he slowly rose from the floor, then with a sharp hiss put a hand to his head.

"Ow, what did that - " He cut himself off as he remembered what had happened. He whipped around to see if Merlin was still in the bed, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief to find that he was. However, his relief was short-lived, for he presently saw the three policemen on the ground. His eyes grew wide, and he shouted,

"Merlin! What did you do?" He turned to face his brother. Merlin opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. Growling, Sherlock asked John, "Did you see what happened?"

"I discovered what your brother's 'gifts' are, if that's what you mean." Though Sherlock didn't betray it, John knew that he was relieved to have the revelation over. All he said was,

"You had to find out sometime." Then, buttoning his sleeves while looking at the unconscious officers, he said, "We can't be here when these three come to. Merlin, can you walk?"

"Sherlock!" protested John, "The boy is still dehydrated and just beginning to recover from a serious condition!" Ignoring John, Sherlock asked again,

"Can you walk?"

"I'll do my best," answered Merlin, a bit of his natural optimism returning.

"Good." John, frustrated, looked between the two Holmes brothers, and finally with a helpless shrug, let it go.

Merlin was trying to rise from the bed, but obviously with difficulty. John approached and put an arm around him, helping him to his feet.

"Can you stand?" asked the doctor with concern. Merlin nodded, removing his arm from around John, and took a wobbly step.

"I'll manage," he answered, and a flash of his boyish smile appeared.

"I'm here if you feel like you're about to fall," replied John, a sudden patriarchal instinct beginning to form inside him. "Be careful."

Sherlock, who had already left the room, stuck his head back in and barked, "Coming?"

John and Merlin glanced at each other with understanding and answered, "Coming!"


	4. Curious

**Thank you so much to those who have read and reviewed this story. Though I know where this story is going, I'm starting to get to a bit of an impasse here, so I would greatly appreciate suggestions for filler events. Enjoy!**

* * *

John was sure he had never been in a more ridiculously dangerous situation before. It would have been comical if it had not been so serious.

As Sherlock had predicted, the police that Merlin had assaulted at the hospital had tracked the three of them to 221B Baker Street. They had only been in the flat for a half an hour when they heard pounding on the front door.

As they listened to Mrs. Hudson patter to open it, Sherlock said aside to Merlin,

"Remember what the plan is." Merlin nodded, and looked a bit pleased with himself.

As soon as Mrs. Hudson opened the door, the three police, plus a few more that they had picked up on the way, hurried past her and up the stairs. Reaching the door to the flat, they didn't even knock, but burst in suddenly.

John turned to look at Merlin worriedly, and even though he had heard the plan, he was still shocked to find no one where the boy had been sitting only moments before.

"Oh, come on, what is it this time?" snapped Sherlock, peeved. The police officer approached him, and, standing threateningly close, answered,

"Where is that boy? I know you're hiding him." Sherlock stared back at the officer with equal intensity and said,

"I only wish I were, but unfortunately for you I am not." The officer brushed past him and motioned to his subordinate officers to search the flat. Soon, all of the officers were stomping around, upsetting papers and other items, leaving them in extreme disarray. Sherlock only looked on with growing disapproval.

John, who had remained silent, cast an anxious glance at the couch upon which Merlin was sitting invisibly, and noticed an officer getting near. However, even as he was almost upon Merlin, a noise from behind startled him and made him jump, then quickly turn to investigate the noise. It was all John could do to suppress a smile.

After a long while, the head officer, whom frustration had made angry, approached Sherlock.

"You're hiding that boy, and until you tell us where, you and your friend will have to come with us to the station." Standing up straighter, Sherlock replied slowly,

"I don't think so." The officer took another step towards Sherlock, and John feared another fiasco like the one at the hospital. Indeed, Sherlock looked as if he also expected a similar move.

Even as the officer took a step, though, a dazed looked flashed over his face, and he halted, confused. Looking up at Sherlock, he said distantly,

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." He glanced at his subordinates, still dazed, and ordered, "We're done here. There's nothing to be found." The other officers were confused at their leader's strange conduct, but they obeyed him, and all trooped out of the flat.

As soon as the front door closed behind them, Sherlock whipped around and bellowed, "Merlin!" The boy suddenly appeared wearing a shy and mischievous smirk. "All I told you to do was stay invisible, not manipulate their minds! What happens when the magic wears off, and they become even more suspicious?" Merlin's innocent smirk now turned bitter, and he snapped,

"Don't tell me what to do with my own magic." Sherlock started as if slapped. Like Mycroft, Sherlock's only memories of Merlin were of a happy, optimistic boy who only wanted to please. Hearing such an aggressive comment come from his mouth stopped Sherlock in his tracks.

Before he could say anything in return, Merlin stood up, but in his weak state, his knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor. Sherlock made a move to help him, but John was already at his side.

"You okay?" asked the doctor, hurriedly analyzing him. Merlin nodded unconvincingly while John helped him back onto the couch. "Just lie here. You need to regain your strength before you can do any walking." Clearly frustrated, Merlin maneuvered himself so that he was facing the wall.

After making sure that he was okay, John rose and came to stand by Sherlock.

"He's healing much more slowly than I was expecting," he whispered to the detective. "Especially for someone with his talents, I would have thought he would be almost back to normal by now." Sherlock took a moment to reply.

"It's because he doesn't want to recover." John, who had been studying Merlin, now turned quickly to look at Sherlock.

"What do you mean?" Shaking his head and exhaling slowly, Sherlock answered,

"He's evidently been through some type of traumatic experience, something that has taken away his will to live. Knowing Merlin, it was probably the death of a friend, someone he was very close to, and in an event that he obviously blames himself for causing." John remained silent after this, remembering from his war years how dangerous this position could be.

Neither of them could see Merlin with his eyes open, listening to their conversation. A single tear leaked out of his eye, the last ounce of sadness left inside him.

Two hours later, Sherlock and John heard a pair of footsteps ascending their stairs. Both looked at each other in fear. Before they could do anything about Merlin, their door opened to reveal Lestrade. Sherlock imperceptibly let out a sigh of relief.

"Lestrade," he nodded.

"Sherlock," answered Lestrade. "I wanted to ask you - " He abruptly cut himself off, catching a glimpse of Merlin. "Who's that?"

"Oh, it's a client who came to us, but passed out before he could tell us why he was here," lied Sherlock smoothly. "What did you want to ask me about?" Satisfied, Lestrade continued.

"It's this murder case."

"Four murders on the same street?" added Sherlock.

"Yeah."

"Brilliant," breathed Sherlock with a smile.

"Yeah, well, it's turning out to be really puzzling. Anderson's looked over all of the bodies, and he can't find a single cause of death."

"Of course he can't," muttered Sherlock under his breath. Rolling his eyes, Lestrade replied,

"Now I know you think that Anderson is incompetent, but we had several other people examine the bodies, and none of them could find a reason for any of them dying."

"Outstanding," smiled Sherlock. "Finally, a killer with some trace of intelligence. And now you want me to come with you to take a look at the bodies, of course." It wasn't a question, because both men knew it was true.

"Yeah, I do." Stifling his excitement, Sherlock strode to grab his coat, adding,

"Stay here with our client, John, in case he comes to." WIth that, he and Lestrade exited the flat.


	5. Investigation

The street upon which they found themselves was deserted, no signs of life to be found. It was a dead end, right in front of an old, falling down apartment complex. Obviously, this was an area in which only the poorest of the poor would live, due to the extreme disrepair and overall dirtiness of it. The road looked as if it hadn't been repaired in over ten years, and the building, which appeared to have been built in the 1980s, looked like it hadn't been noticed since. Police tape decorated the whole area from the investigation the previous day.

Getting out of Lestrade's car, Sherlock glanced all around him, his mind already busy making sense of each little detail.

Why would a murderer kill four people on this road? It was evidently an out-of-the-way place, making it easy to get away with his crime. As the detective had already noticed, no one with any type of money would live here, so he wasn't after their belongings. If it was for personal reasons, then the killer had to be someone who came in contact with poor people quite often. However, Sherlock had a feeling this wasn't for personal reasons. Something told him that these murders were actually random, possibly to prove a point.

"It's definitely not a place you'd be surprised to hear about a murder in," commented Lestrade.

"Oh, please, just, don't," said Sherlock with a wince.

"Don't what?" asked Lestrade, confused.

"'In, in!' How dare you end your sentence with a preposition!" Lestrade threw up his arms.

"I give up. Nothing can make you happy."

"Some silence just about now would come pretty close." With a muffled curse, Lestrade obliged the detective.

As Sherlock approached the building, a detail in the gravel caught his eye. He drew nearer to it and bent down to examine it.

"There was a body here, several days ago, but it was moved," he announced to Lestrade. The sergeant came and bent down beside him.

"So what does that mean?" Lestrade asked.

"Working on that," was Sherlock's reply as he rose and swept into the building.

As would be expected from a building with such a budget as this one, it was quite dark inside. Many of the lights didn't work, and if it weren't for the yellow tape all throughout the halls, Sherlock was unsure if he could have found his way around. Furthermore, with the dilapidated state of the building, Sherlock was fairly certain he would presently step on a rotten board or lean on a broken staircase, causing a rather awkward mishap.

"The first body we found was on the second floor," said Lestrade, pushing past Sherlock to lead the way.

The second floor smelled musty as they reached it. It was still dark, just as the first floor had been, but this was due just as much to the gathering darkness outside as it was to the faulty lights.

Lestrade led the way confidently to a room near the end of the hall. "This is it," he said, motioning to Sherlock to go in first. The detective took his hint and walked in.

A body was laying on the ground amidst a jumble of junk and trash.

"I told the investigators not to touch anything," explained Lestrade in an effort to apologize for the mess. But Sherlock had stiffened, for he had noticed something.

A cursory glance of the body had shown him that, indeed, it showed no signs of damage. In all aspects it appeared that it should be perfectly healthy, but in fact it had been dead for several days.

However, even as he noticed this he was struck by a feeling in the room, a pervasive presence that had no scientific explanation. Though it had been many years since Sherlock had last seen Merlin, he still remembered what it was like having his younger brother around, and this was a feeling that took him back to those days.

Magic had been used.

That explained why there were no wounds on the bodies.

As soon as Sherlock realized this, a terrible thought struck him, but it was so horrific that he didn't let himself entertain it at once.

"I haven't the faintest idea what happened to this body," said Sherlock vaguely. Lestrade, dumbfounded by his uncharacteristic honesty about his failure, said worriedly,

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just, um, could you drive me to St. Bart's?" Without waiting for an answer, Sherlock brushed past him and trotted down the stairs, leaving a befuddled Lestrade to follow.

"What about the other bodies?" called Lestrade to the quickly disappearing form of the detective.

"I've seen all I need," was Sherlock's hasty reply. When they reached the car and were inside, Lestrade asked frustratedly,

"What just happened?" But Sherlock only stared straight ahead without answering.

When they arrived in front of the hospital, Sherlock said as he got out, "I'll get a cab back to Baker Street."

"But-" The detective only closed the door on Lestrade's imminent retort. Huffing in frustration, he drove away.

* * *

Arriving back at Baker Street, Sherlock mounted the stairs purposefully, intent on doing what he had to do without any emotional fiascos. He remembered from past cases the headache of distraught clients blubbering and making a regular mess of things due to some huge family blow-up. He was resolved to avoid such an inconvenient scene at all costs.

 _Just state the facts,_ he told himself, _and everything will be fine. No one could possibly get upset when they see the truth staring them in the face._

As he opened the door, he called, "John?" before he had fully taken in the scene. The entire flat was dark. Not a light had been turned on since night had fallen, which had been over an hour earlier.

Worried, Sherlock quickly switched on the lights and scanned the room. He started when he saw John lying in a crumpled heap by the wall, and no sign of Merlin to be found. Sherlock hurried to check on the doctor. A brief feel of his pulse showed that he was still alive, merely unconscious. Sherlock shook him gently, and he began to wake. He sat up, and then with a sudden intake of breath, he put a hand to his side.

"Ooh, mm, that does not feel good." Then, before he hardly had time to pull himself together, Sherlock asked hastily,

"What happened, John? Where is Merlin?" John rubbed his side a little before chuckling, then answered,

"You know, that boy is more of a Holmes than I first thought. I was going to check on him, for he hadn't moved for several hours, and even as I did, he whipped around and sent me flying." It matched up perfectly with what Sherlock had learned. With this new development, Sherlock's last hope to which he had clung, the last doubt that what he had observed was simply not true, vanished. He knew that he was right.

As he helped John over to the couch, he explained. "The person who committed those four murders used magic. I could feel it in the room, all around me. I didn't want to believe it, but then I visited St. Bart's on the way back, and they only confirmed my suspicions. Merlin was found at the very place that those murders were committed." Though John had just been attacked by the boy, it was still hard for him to believe.

"Oh, no, Sherlock, you don't really think…" Sherlock replied quietly,

"I don't think. I know." John made a helpless gesture, crushed to learn such a horrible thing about a boy of whom he had become quite fond.

"And you think that's why he attacked me, because he knew you would find out the truth." Nodding, Sherlock walked into the kitchen to make some tea. Presently, his voice drifted into the sitting room.

"It only makes sense: A traumatic experience such as he's had could have a drastic effect on his mind, enough to disconnect all that he's ever believed. Oftentimes it is the most emotional people, those whom you think wouldn't do anyone harm, who become the most dangerous. Their scarring experience is so opposed to their whole way of living, so extremely opposite of their native mindset, that they cannot reconcile the difference and their conflicted emotions erupt into some form of violence."

It suddenly hit John that Sherlock was being much more loquacious in his deductions than normal, and he immediately understood why. The detective was trying to explain to himself why his brother would do such a thing. It had obviously hit him hard to learn that his little brother, of whom he had always cared for a great deal, was a murderer. In voicing aloud all that he knew, he was trying to convince himself that it was all logical and normal for this to have happened, when deep down inside he couldn't understand it.

Once the tea was brewed, Sherlock brought in a tray with two cups and sat it down on the table. Just as he did his phone rang.

"Sherlock, you really must keep a close eye on your family members," came Mycroft's voice. "Some of them never do outgrow the age of running away." Sherlock's face became hard.

"You've found him?" Something like regret seemed to pass over his features, but it didn't light and was gone in an instant.

"Yes, brother dear, I do hold a fairly important place in the British government where I have at my disposal some rather better than average surveillance devices. It wasn't extremely taxing."

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Well, as I see that you are incompetent at looking after him, I suppose I shall keep him here, at least tonight, in order to forego the headache of tracking him down again." A certain tone in his voice told Sherlock that his brother had not discovered the truth about Merlin, and he was surprised to find that he felt a great deal of relief for this.

"We'll stop by in the morning." Sherlock put his phone in his pocket absently, staring at nothing.

"So Mycroft found him, did he?" asked John.

"Evidently." Then, before John could ask another question, Sherlock said sprightly, "Ah, well, I am exhausted from today, so I think I'll head to bed."

"Without your tea?" Turning back around, Sherlock saw his untouched tea, and with a smile said,

"I'm taking it with me." John just watched him go, by now used to his strange moods, and took a sip from his own cup.


	6. Questioning

"What are you going to say to him?" asked John worriedly as he and Sherlock rode towards The Diogenes Club the next morning. Sherlock looked aside at John, seemingly surprised that he should be worried about the imminent conversation.

"Simply what I've discovered, and ask if he has anything to say in his defense."

"But he's your brother, Sherlock! Surely that means something to you!"

"I can't let personal feelings cloud my judgement, John. The facts are that he murdered four people, and I can't just live in a fairyland where that didn't happen." John turned away impatiently and stared out the window.

"Even you aren't that heartless, Sherlock. I know you feel for the boy." Sherlock didn't reply, for he also was staring out of his window. The rest of the cab ride passed in silence.

Mycroft was at the door to meet them when they arrived, a frightened Merlin at his side. "How good to see you, brother dear," he said with condescension.

"Don't even start, Mike," snapped Sherlock, annoyed at the world because of what he knew was coming. All four entered the building and ascended the stairs to Mycroft's private study.

"You have some troubling news, Sherlock?"

"Yes, I do," answered Sherlock, looking significantly at Merlin. The boy looked back at him with a curious expression. "I need to talk to Merlin alone," demanded Sherlock without taking his eyes away from the boy. Though Mycroft seemed a little miffed, he finally obliged and followed John out of the room.

Sherlock and his younger brother were left alone.

Neither spoke for several minutes. Finally, Sherlock broke the silence. "Why are you here?" Merlin looked away, but didn't reply. "Come on, Merlin, if you had wanted to escape Mycroft's notice you could have done so without a second thought. Why did you allow him to catch you?" Merlin still looked at the ground, but after a while he looked up at his older brother. Sherlock was astonished to see the frightened expression on his face.

"Something's happening to my magic. I don't know what it is, but when I tried to hide from Mycroft, I couldn't do anything. My magic wouldn't work." His features portrayed all the many emotions this statement meant to him: fear, helplessness, confusion, and frustration.

For a second, Sherlock's heart lifted. If Merlin couldn't use his magic, then he couldn't have murdered those people! However, even as he thought this, he realized that Merlin might be making up this story as an alibi. He could be lying in the hope that the detective would believe him and dismiss him of any guilt of the crime.

"So I suppose you're going to deny killing those four people at Chenies Mews." Merlin looked surprised, even offended, at Sherlock's words.

"Killing four people? Do you really think I've changed that much, Sherlock? You know I would never do anything like that."

Sherlock wanted to believe him. Indeed, he almost did. But he knew that Merlin had learned from a young age to lie by necessity. He had a life-threatening secret to hide, and he had perfected the art of telling a lie convincingly. Therefore, Sherlock listened to his denial with suspicion, and searched for some tangible sign of its truth. Even to Sherlock's trained eye, though, there was not a trace of physical evidence that this story was true. It was Merlin's word against Sherlock's observational skills, and he knew which one he trusted more.

"No, I don't know that you wouldn't do something like that, especially after what you've been through. You could be capable of anything." Appearing like he had been slapped in the face, Merlin stared at his older brother in disbelief. He shook his head as if to clear these words from his memory.

"You don't mean that."

"Oh, I do, Merlin. I mean it very much." With these last words, Sherlock disappeared from the room without a backwards glance. Merlin remained where he stood as if stricken.

"What did you learn from him?" asked Mycroft in feigned innocence.

"Oh, shut up, Mycroft, we both know you were listening to the conversation," retorted Sherlock.

"Oh, so I guess I'm the only one here who doesn't know what just happened in there. Again," muttered John with a shake of his head. "Holmes boys." Both brothers ignored him.

"You suspect the boy of murder?" queried Mycroft. "Upon what grounds do you base this charge?" Sherlock, however, was not in the mood for explaining himself, and he stubbornly clenched his jaw, saying,

"I have my reasons." Sighing, Mycroft turned away, knowing he would not be getting any more information from his younger brother.

"Well then, get the boy and take him with you. I have no wish to be bothered with him." But when Sherlock opened the door to call Merlin out, he found no one inside. All three men suddenly grew extremely alert.

"Where could he have gone?" asked John.

"He has small knowledge of this town, so he could be anywhere," replied Sherlock quickly as he brushed past his brother and John to hurry down the stairs. John followed closely.

"But Sherlock, I thought he said he couldn't use his magic anymore?" called Mycroft from above to the two men below.

"He was lying," drifted up Sherlock's answer. However, Mycroft cocked his head, a shimmer of disbelief overshadowing his features.

* * *

"I shouldn't have come back." This was the first thought that entered Merlin's mind as he wandered the unfamiliar streets of London. He had supposed that coming back would solve his problems. Well, to be fair, he had imagined that he would die, and he thought that would end everything. However, his decision to come back had only made things worse. Merlin was beginning to believe that his destiny was to fail in everything he undertook.

In the very act of attempting to to forget everything he had done, all the mistakes he had made, he had only caused them to be brought more vividly to his mind. Now, he could only dwell upon everything that had happened in the past few months.

He remembered Gwen, her steady and unwavering loyalty to Camelot and the ideals for which it stood. He remembered Gaius, the man who was more of a father to him than anyone in the world. Then he thought of his supposed father, Ballinor, the man who had died before Merlin could even begin to put his tangled emotions into words.

A sharp pang shot through his entire being as he suddenly remembered Freya, the only person in the world who had ever won his heart. She had been beautiful in a way that no one else was. Something deep inside her seemed to shine out and make everything about her almost divine. His tears threatened to overflow as he imagined the life they might have had, the joy and happiness they should have shared, the family they could have raised. His imagination began to run rampant, and each conjured image felt like a dagger in his heart.

Shaking his head to clear his mind of these dangerous thoughts, Merlin tried to continue on his way, unmolested by the past. But images of close friends, Lancelot, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, Percival, and many others, all flashed before his eyes.

Suddenly, unbidden and unwanted, but not wholly unexpected, rose the face of Arthur. It was at this moment that Merlin couldn't continue. He crumpled to his knees, weighted down by the awful reality that he had lost all that he had ever hoped to achieve in his life. The destiny of a great kingdom had rested upon his shoulders, and it had been too much for him. Everything was gone, all because of the choices he had made. He had failed everyone.

A girl's voice cut into his despondency and caused him to raise his head. "What's a matter, Sir? Are you hurt?" She couldn't have been more than seven years old, with pigtails and a freckled face, the embodiment of childhood innocence. With a face full of concern, she came towards the broken warlock.

"Did you fall and hurt yourself, or did you lose something?" In spite of himself, Merlin found himself giving her a sad smile.

"I guess you could say that, yes," he answered gently. She immediately put her hand on his arm, then said in a serious and confident tone,

"My Mama told me that any hurt will heal itself if you just give it time, and she is always right." Merlin's smile faded a little at the poignancy of these words.

"I would like to believe it," he responded wistfully.

"So what did you lose?" continued the girl. Merlin sighed slowly before replying,

"Everything."

"No, you haven't lost everything," said the girl with a comical air of authority. "You still have you. And you have me." She ended with a bright smile. Then, before Merlin could think of anything to say to this, the girl suddenly assumed a shocked expression, and said,

"Oh no! I told Mama I wouldn't talk to anyone I didn't know." After thinking for a few moments, she added, "But I know you now, so it's okay." Her childish exuberance was such a balm to Merlin's heartsick soul, and he soon found himself beaming his trademark smile as she prattled on about her day.

"And then Tom said that my cat wasn't as pretty as his, but his cat is ugly, so he was lying, and Mama said that lying is wrong, so I guess that Tom is a bad person, but sometimes he's really nice, like when he told my teacher that he had broken the picture, even though I actually had. But he still tells lies." She glanced away with a confused face. "Can someone be both good and bad at the same time?" She looked at Merlin expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer.

Before he knew it, Merlin thought of Morgana. He could see her smiling, happy face, but with each picture he saw her other side, the twisted face, full of hatred and pain.

"Yes, I think they can," he replied, not entirely talking to the girl, but somewhat to himself.

"But how?" she asked, her face full of wonder at the thought.

"I don't know."

"Really?" Just then, from a little distance away, a lady's worried voice called out,

"Henrietta! What do you think you're doing?" The girl gave Merlin an apologetic face while saying,

"It was nice to meet you, Sir. I hope you get better soon," before scampering away to her mother. The woman gave Merlin a scared and suspicious stare as the girl ran to her, and as soon as she reached her the mother hurried away, still keeping an eye on Merlin.

The warlock stood where he was for several minutes, recovering from his previous emotional trauma and sudden encounter with the girl. Into the midst of his thoughts, a man's voice came from behind him, saying,

"I hate to crash your pity party, but, I mean, is it really even a party if I'm not there?" Merlin whirled to face a young man in a suit and sunglasses, chewing gum obnoxiously.

"Who are you?" asked Merlin warily. The man's eyes widened in mock surprise, and he answered,

"What? You mean your brother hasn't mentioned me? Ahh, and I really thought we had a special something." He did an exaggerated slow-motion pantomime of being stabbed in the heart. It was so unlike anything that Merlin expected, that he only stared at the man in disbelief.

Presently, the man's cavalier persona dropped away and he became very earnest. "But enough about me; let's talk about you." He took a step towards Merlin, which was just a little too close for comfort, and Merlin found himself taking a step backwards. "Where have you been hiding all this time?" As he said this, he leaned towards Merlin, and the boy instinctively leaned away. "Now I just have to find out if you may be a softer spot for Sherlock than even that doctor of his."


	7. Villain

Sherlock and John had been scouring the city for hours, but to no avail. Because Sherlock had not spent enough time with Merlin to learn his habits and tendencies, and because he knew how unpredictable his brother could be, he had no lead on where the boy might be. John tried to make an occasional suggestion, but was met with either silence or a harsh rebuff. He soon learned to remain silent.

After a quick lunch, they resumed their search, but still found no Merlin. Finally, in the late afternoon, realizing that their search had been fruitless, Sherlock decided that they should start to head back.

They had only gone a little ways when they passed a little girl and her mother. The girl looked up at Sherlock and said, "Wow! You look like that man I met today! Do you know him?" The mother scolded her daughter and tried to jerk her away, but John quickly soothed her by explaining that they were looking for someone and that the girl might be able to help. Sherlock, always uncomfortable around children, but still very interested in what she had to say, looked down at her and asked quickly,

"When and where did you see him and where did he go?"

"I saw him this morning when Mama took me to the park," she answered, smiling. "Well, I guess, it wasn't this morning. It was probably lunchtime." She suddenly grew worried and added, "Now that I think about it, he didn't have any lunch with him. Do you think he's hungry?" Impatient with her rambling, Sherlock got down on her level and asked pointedly,

"But where did he go?" The girl giggled and said,

"You don't have very nice manners." John laughed out loud, and the mother quickly tried to scold and apologize at the same time. Sherlock was discomfited, but before he had time to say anything, the girl continued,

"Mama found me and I went with her, but when I looked back I noticed that he was talking to a man in a suit and sunglasses. He must not have been very nice, because your friend didn't look very happy to be talking to him. When we passed them I heard the strange man say he was going to pay a visit to his brother, Sherlock, to return the, well, he said a big word I didn't know. I think it was something like, prod'gal? What does that mean?" Suddenly her eyes grew large, and she looked up at the detective. "Are you Sherlock?"

But he had heard what he wanted, and grabbing John, he bolted away in the direction of Baker Street. They didn't stop to catch their breath, and John only managed to wheeze, "Moriarty?" and receive a nod in the affirmative along the way.

Reaching the front door, Sherlock burst through and took the steps two at a time. When he pushed open the door to their flat, Merlin whirled to face them, a wad of clothes in his hands.

"Merlin!" huffed Sherlock in some surprise. Then, surveying the room, he asked, "Where's Moriarty?" Merlin stared at him for a moment in disgust, then turned back around and threw his clothes in a bag.

"Where are you going?" asked John with more than just a little worry in his voice.

"Somewhere that isn't here," replied Merlin shortly. He was zipping up his bag with a jerk as he said this. Slinging it over his shoulder, he began to walk purposefully towards the door, but Sherlock stepped to block his way.

"No," was all the detective said, but the tone of his voice held more authority than any king or leader during wartime. However, he underestimated how much he and his younger brother were related. Merlin had stopped, but he stood firm and unphased, staring back at his brother with all the force of a giant wave about to crash against the shore.

"Get out of my way," he said it quietly, but there was such contained rage in his voice that Sherlock, for the first time in his life, felt afraid of his brother. John, sensing the chilling tension in the room, took a step forward, saying,

"Now, Merlin, just, take it easy. We're not going to hurt you." Immediately, Merlin put up a hand in John's direction, and something about the intensity of the action caused John to halt mid-step. Sherlock continued to stand in front of the door, but even Merlin could see the wavering in his eyes.

"I'm not going to tell you again, Sherlock. Step aside." The shadows in the room seemed to darken, and all of the lights appeared to flicker. A feeling of great power invaded the room, and even the rational detective couldn't help but be affected by it.

Both Holmes brothers stared at each other for many silent, potent moments, a fierce battle of wills raging between them. First one would hover on the edge of backing down, then the other. Both of their weapons were adamantine, but sooner or later someone had to break.

Finally, Sherlock lost his patience. He knew he was losing the battle, but even with his strongest asset gone he tried to wield his last remaining weapon: Intimidation.

"You're not going to meet Moriarty, Merlin, and I suggest you'd better not push your luck with me." Stiffening, Merlin continued to stare into Sherlock's eyes, but the detective noticed that he no longer seemed to be looking at him. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. Then, as if from the depths of his being, Merlin uttered a smattering of ancient words and swept Sherlock aside like he was a piece of straw. The detective hurtled to the side and crashed into the wall. A sickening crunch was heard, and he fell limply to the ground.

Rushing to him, John looked him all over, feeling his head, his arms, his side, finding that everything he touched seemed to be damaged. However, he was most concerned with the laboured breathing that was coming from Sherlock's body, and the blood dripping down from his head.

John risked a glance at Merlin, his blood boiling at the boy. He was just in time to see Merlin staring at Sherlock, a look of pure fear evident on his face. Then, pulling himself back together, the boy took a step towards the door, hesitated, took a quick look at Sherlock again, and finally was gone without a word.

Growling, partly out of fear and partly out of anger, John focused all of his attention on his friend. He had known right away that this was serious, and would need immediate attention. He pulled out a phone and dialed St. Bart's number. "Yes, I need an ambulance at 221B Baker Street at once," he explained steadily, then hung up and prayed that they would be fast enough.


	8. Pursuing

Merlin's purposeful route took him straight to Chenies Mews. He looked neither to his left nor his right, intent on fulfilling what he came to do.

Moriarty was waiting in front of the ramshackle building when he arrived. His back was to the boy as he surveyed the apartments.

"Isn't it funny? All that death and disaster, all because your friends are dead. Who would have thought it? People were killed because you hated the killing - There's Shakespearean irony for you." Turning to face Merlin, he smiled. "Where's your medieval code of honour now? Without Arthur, it's all a lie." Merlin clenched his jaw as well as his fist. He hated this man with a passion, but he knew that he had to let him finish so he could get done with everything.

Also, he felt slightly confused. People had been killed? By whom? Something in the way Moriarty had said it insinuated that Merlin himself had done it. He couldn't remember doing it, but he couldn't remember a lot of what happened during those few days before he had been taken to the hospital. For all he knew, he might have.

Moriarty was studying him closely, and seemed to divine his thoughts.

"Oh, you don't remember what happened those last several days, do you? You didn't know that your brother has been tracking down the killer, and he finally traced all those murders back to you? After all, this is where you were found by the doctors at St. Bart's." With a shock, Merlin remembered Sherlock's words at the Diogenes Club, and he realized why his brother believed so firmly that he had killed those people. He also realized that he had no alibi. In fact, he might be guilty.

"But, I didn't kill them," combatted Merlin feebly, trying to convince himself as well as Moriarty. The villain shook his head, then started laughing, a hearty laugh that echoed in the empty cul-de-sac.

"Do you really doubt yourself that much, O Great Sorcerer?" He sneered as he pronounced this. "Of course you didn't kill those people! The only person you tried to kill was yourself, and even then you failed." He laughed maliciously, and stepped closer to Merlin.

"You didn't kill those people, because my wife did." Stepping back, Moriarty looked around at everything except Merlin, saying airily, "I think you've met her before, not only in this time, but in another time as well."

From the dilapidated building, a figure emerged, a woman. Merlin would recognize her cruel sneer anywhere:

Morgana.

* * *

The sirens were enough to split a man's head wide open. John tried to ignore them and focus on Sherlock, but the sound as well as the moving ambulance were not ideal situations for paying attention to anything. The detective groaned, opening his eyes slowly.

"Sherlock!" cried John, relief plain to hear in his voice. "You're alive, and awake!" Sherlock didn't acknowledge him, but tried to rise from his horizontal position. John quickly pushed him back down, saying authoritatively, "Sherlock, you are in no condition to move. Stay down."

"I have to get Merlin," moaned Sherlock brokenly, his feeble attempts to rise easily checked by the doctor. After several more attempts to get up, the detective finally gave in and lay still.

"Some water," he choked to John. The doctor willingly ran to get a glass, but when he returned, he found an empty stretcher, and an open ambulance door.

"Holy-" But before he could finish his profanity he rushed to the front of the ambulance. "Stop the car! Stop! Sherlock's gone!" This announcement set in motion a chaotic jumble of people and commands that no one noticed. In the midst of the commotion, John only shook his head and said with a sharp laugh, "Sherlock, you son-of-a-..., when I find you, I'm going to kill you."

* * *

Merlin found that he had lost all ability to be shocked, and only felt frustration and a bit of curiosity that Morgana was here. Dropping his head, he asked quietly,

"How are you here?" She laughed, a clear, ringing laugh that still sounded surprisingly similar to her husband's.

"Oh, Merlin, ever the innocent, naive young boy, aren't you?" She continued to smile, though it slowly turned nasty. "You think you're the only one who can travel through time? You think you're the only one with that much power? Well you're wrong, Emrys, yes, you're wrong. You were always so arrogant in a quiet way, so confident in yourself that you didn't have to prove it to anyone. I hated that, and I purposed that I would destroy you, somewhere, someplace, sometime, no matter what. Then I learned from Gaius about your origins, the fact that you weren't native to our time." Merlin looked up at her when she mentioned Gaius, the hate that he was trying to suppress threatening to overflow. He knew Gaius would not willingly have given her that information. Smiling wider at his look of hate, she continued.

"So I searched far and wide for a way to travel to the future. Oh, it took many years, but I finally found what I wanted. Now that I had this knowledge, I discovered where you had gone, and I made sure to get here several years before you. I wanted to be sure that I had time to plan everything before you got here." She looked at Moriarty, a surprisingly soft smile forming on her face.

"That's when I met Jim, and I realized that we had very similar goals. He wanted your brother, I wanted you. It was as simple as that. So, if we worked together, we could help each other reach those goals." She broke off, then laughed. "Of course, we hadn't planned on falling in love, but some things just happen." A goofy grin played across Moriarty's face.

However, Merlin was in no mood to be touched by such a heart-warming scene. He only said with thinly disguised loathing in his voice,

"So what do you want from me?" Morgana's tender smile was suddenly replaced with bitter hate.

"I want you to crawl. I want you to be abandoned by all your friends and family, thrown wrongfully into jail, and have to sit and consider your lonely existence. I want you to know how I felt for all the years that I was shunned by those who were supposed to love me. I want you to know how it feels to be helpless, to have nothing within your power that can help you out of this predicament. And finally, when you have sufficiently tasted all of this, I want you to die, slowly, painfully, and alone." Merlin looked up at her out of haunted eyes, and said slowly,

"You think I haven't felt all of this, and more?"

"I want you to drown in it!" she screamed at him. "I don't just want you to taste it, I want it to bubble up around you, suffocating you, boiling you, buffeting you, until you finally give in and let it take you over. Only then will I be truly satisfied that you have understood my suffering."

"But you forget: I am Emrys, the greatest sorcerer to walk the earth. If you think you're power is equal to mine, I'm afraid you're wrong." At this, Moriarty, who had been silent up to this point, began to laugh hysterically.

"I have to say, Morgana, your plan is working exactly how it was supposed to." She smirked as well.

"Did you expect any less?" Confused, Merlin looked back and forth between them, trying to understand what they were discussing. Morgana noticed his curiosity and said patronizingly, "But poor Merlin doesn't know what we're talking about." Both villains fixed their eyes on him.

"You don't remember much about your stay at the hospital, do you?" asked Moriarty. Merlin shook his head sullenly, afraid of being led into a trap of some sort. Smiling to himself, Moriarty added, "No, what am I saying, of course you don't remember: You were dying." A laugh came from Morgana as she continued.

"You didn't notice that there was a certain nurse there, a certain nurse that you would have recognized if you had been in your right mind." Realization began to dawn on Merlin as he understood what she was saying. She noticed his recognition and smiled more cruelly.

"Yes, Merlin, it was me: I was the faithful nurse who watched over you as you slowly struggled back from the brink of death. With each drink of water I gave you that revived you, I also added a small dose of a potion that made your magic unstable. It would take effect slowly, making your magic fade away, until you didn't possess it at all. Only then would I bring you here and make sure that you were found committing the very crime that you are charged with. Only then did I know I could defeat you."

Merlin didn't want to believe it, he tried to convince himself it wasn't true, but he knew it was. He had felt in his last fierce attack on Sherlock as if he had lost a part of himself, a crucial factor in his make-up. Only now did he understand what it had been.

He realized, truly, that he had lost his magic.

Sudden panic gripped him as he understood his precarious position. Here he stood, faced by two of the most powerful villains in the world, helpless, with not a shred of magic to protect himself.

Morgana's sneer curled up into an evil smile. "You can bid your happy world goodbye, Merlin. You don't have an Arthur to save you now." A deep voice seemed to come from nowhere.

"Well, no, my name's not Arthur, but I believe that you meant that in a general sense. If so, then here I am." From around the corner of the building emerged a battered Sherlock, weak and limping, but with a steely look in his eye that belied his physical condition. "I don't appreciate you threatening my brother."


End file.
